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prose poetry

dites-moi pas
simplicité
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
fleurs des bébés
elle a un espace libre, loveliness vent-abrité
la nuit était noire et triste
beaux, tragical visages
truely
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
un mille derrière
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres

 



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